


That's Wally Pipp

by RedBlazer



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Baseball, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Human Disaster Mike Lawson, Kid Fic, Mike-Centric, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Series, Single Parents, Training, past Mike Lawson/Amelia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9683888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBlazer/pseuds/RedBlazer
Summary: Five years down the road:Mike is up one championship ring,Down one functional knee,And back in San Diego with a new career.An AU in which Mike left The Padres for The Cubs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last night. I hope you like it. There is more on the way soon! Don't worrk, I'll still be posting to my other works in the Pitch fandom!

Mike (belatedly) realizes that wearing the ring was a huge mistake. But by the time that happens, it’s too late. Al looks between Mike and Ginny, his face scrunching up in discomfort.  The huge ring on his finger looks gaudy and fake now under the lights of the office. He doesn’t even know why he wore it, it usually sits on his dresser.

Ginny doesn’t even say so much as a ‘Hello’ as she marches into the room, walking to Al’s side and kneeling down. And why would she? It’s not like it hasn’t been five years since they’ve been in the same room.

The silvery scar running down the inside of her upper arm gleams dimly in the fluorescent lights of the office. Mike’s right knee aches in sympathy, his hand flexes against the handle of his cane.

“How are you?” Ginny asks Al softly, both of her hands on the arm of the couch where he’s sitting in his civilian clothes.

“Good. Good.” Al pats Ginny’s hand in a paternal way.

“It’s going to take more than a heart attack to kill that guy, believe me.” Buck reassures the room. “Have a seat, kids.”

Mike bites his tongue at that one and instead pours himself into a chair by the door, his right knee pulsing angrily at him for being too stubborn to sit down in the first place.

Ginny pats Al’s hand again and stands up, leaning against the wall with a shoulder pulled up high to block Mike from her vision.

She looks the same. Maybe more muscular, but there’s sweat on her brow from the workout they pulled her out of to give her the news and her hair is piled on top of her head in a familiar bun. And what is she even doing here on an off day like this? They leave for training camp in less than a week. There’s a bare bones crew of people getting the stadium ready for opening day.

“Ginny, you know I retired,” Al says, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s wearing a great Hawaiian shirt. “and Buck has stepped up as manager.”

Buck nods in agreement, “Some might say the word ‘finally’ fits into that sentence.”

Mike tries his best to remain as calm as possible.

“Yeah, of course.” Ginny responds, her voice flat. “I don’t know why that has anything to do with him being here.”

She can’t even say his name. Jesus, this is going to be like that guy who was cursed to push a rock up a mountain for eternity.

Mike clears his throat. He’s never been one to shy away from confrontation (except for that one, pretty major time) and he can’t just sit here while Ginny Baker does everything in her power to ignore him.

“I’m here because there’s an open position on the coaching staff.” Mike says, resisting the urge to stretch out his leg even though it’s burning at the moment.

“For a position you’re not qualified for.” Ginny fires back, once again not looking at him.

“That’s your opinion.” Mike says, “But Al and Buck are the ones who have decided, and luckily for me, your opinion doesn’t matter here.”

Ginny’s hackles rise and she flattens her back against the wall, narrowing her eyes at him for the first time. “My contract is up for renegotiation at the end of this season—“

“Don’t threaten to leave, it’s a dick move, Baker.” Mike fires back at her, his own eyes honing in on her now.

“It’s not a threat if I make good on my word, it’s a promise.” Ginny snaps. “And I promise you, I will not work under this man.” Her head whips over to Buck, addressing him now. “Maybe I’ll go to Chicago.”

Ouch.

The ring on his finger seems to catch the light even brighter for a fraction of a second, his hand tenses and releases again around the handle of the cane.

“You’ve done pretty well for yourselves while I was gone.” Mike reminds her. There’s a photo on the wall of the team in a pile on the field when they won the series last year.

“Yeah, we’ve done a lot of things since you left.” Ginny replies without looking at him again. She directs her attention to Buck now. “He’s unqualified to lead the pitching staff. Buck, you know as well as I do that there’s only one coach in the league who isn’t a former pitcher.”

Buck nods, resting his chin on a hand. “Yeah, and he’s a catcher.”

“Exactly.” Mike says, “I know everything about the way you throw, Baker. I know Sullivan and Jackson.”

“You don’t know Ruiz and Li.” Ginny shakes her head. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do.

“I’ll learn.” Mike’s heart is beating so hard he’s amazed she can’t hear it from where she’s standing in the relatively small office. “I’ve accepted the job, now you need to accept that we will be working together through the season.”

Ginny scoffs.

Al sighs, “Baker, I know you’re upset,” She stops and gives him a look, “don’t start with me. I love every player on this team and you’re like a daughter to me, but that doesn’t mean you are in charge around here. Now, Buck’s made the decision to bring Mike in, and if you want a shot at another ring, you need to get on board.”

One of her hands closes into a fist, beating back against the wall with a soft thud as she turns on a heel and goes to leave the room.

She slams the door behind her and the three men sit in a beat of silence before Buck reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of scotch and three glasses.

“That honestly went better than I expected it to.” Buck says, nodding. He opens the cap on the bottle and pours each of them a healthy serving.

“She’s gonna need some time, Mike.” Al tells him, leaning over to hand Mike his drink. “Ginny’s under a lot of pressure right now with the court case.”

Mike nods. There’s no way he could have missed that.

He knocks back some of the scotch in his glass, feeling it burn all the way down.

“She can’t hold on to that anger forever, Mike.” Buck tells him, tipping his glass in Mike’s direction.

“You seem to forget that Ginny Baker is the most unlikely person we’ve ever met. That woman is nothing if not persistent.” Mike points at the door Ginny just left through. “I don’t need her to forgive me for leaving, I just need her to work with me.”

“I like your spirit, kid.” Al tells him, nodding. “Now tell me you have some pictures for me.”

Mike sighs, setting down his glass and drawing his phone out from his pocket.

“Overdid myself at Disneyland this weekend.” Mike holds up his cane, shaking it like an angry old man. “Worth it though.”

He unlocks the phone and passes it to Al who looks down in that sentimental way he does when it comes to kids. “So I take it she didn’t like the teacups.”

“Absolutely not, she loved them up until the point she projectile vomited on me.” Mike smiles despite himself, knowing full well what the photo Al is passing to Buck shows; a little blonde girl throwing a temper tantrum, Mike with his arm around her, smiling into the camera. His shirt was an absolute mess of what had been a Mickey Mouse shaped ice cream bar. Ah, memories. “Don’t let that picture fool you, Harriet dragged me around that park though the light parade until the fireworks and _then_ tried to convince me we could stay later because Mickey and Minnie told her it was okay.”

A large smile plastered across Al’s face as he handed the phone back. “Kid’s do that. You know, they say you gotta watch out for the boys, but girls are crafty.”

“Harriet’s smarter than she has any right to be. She takes after her mother.” Mike locks his phone and slides it back into the pocket of his jacket.

“Well, regardless, I’m sure you’re happy to be back in town. Is custody working out?” Al asks.

Mike nods. “Harriet picked out the paint for her room and I think we all know her mom would be the first person to tell me if I wasn’t wanted. I’ll have her on off days and weekends when we aren’t traveling. We’re working on something for the offseason.” He checks his watch, “Speaking of which, I’ve got people showing up with furniture in an hour and the front office has paperwork for me to sign.” Mike picks up his scotch and throws it back.

“We’re happy to have you here.” Al tells him, Buck nods.

Mike smiles to himself, “Well, thank you for not forcing me into a career as a commentator. I don’t think I could handle being up in the press box for the rest of my life.”

“Plus we know you’re biased as hell.” Buck laughs, holding up his glass.

“Now get out of here.” Buck motions for him to leave good-naturedly.

Mike carefully gets up, the pressure on his knee radiating pain up his leg to his hip. He winces just enough to have Al looking concerned.

“Please don’t ask me if I’m okay, I’ll have to hit you with my cane.” Mike grumbles. “I’ll see you tomorrow for the training camp meeting.”

Al and Buck tell him to say ‘hello’ to the kid and he leaves. Somehow Mike’s pretty sure that no matter what, Al will still be managing, just not in an ‘official’ capacity.

There’s music coming from the gym at the end of the hall. It’s something loud about being there for your girlfriends. Ginny. And outside one of the doors is a guy in a black suit, keeping watch. Mike steers away and heads to the office to fill out his paperwork.

It all happens in an orderly sequence. There’s a line of documents and a pen set out on a table. Mike dutifully signs and initials where the nice woman from HR tells him to. He signs an autograph for her daughter and slowly heads to where his car is parked in the lot.

Mike climbs into the responsible car he bought the day after Harriet was born, throws his cane into the foot well of the passenger seat, buckles his seat belt, and just sits there for a good minute. He flexes his hands on the steering wheel and releases a few times in succession. His knee is killing him, but the ache of it is a near constant feeling he’s gotten used to pushing to the back of his mind.

Instead he can’t get Ginny out of his head. The way her face fell when she took a step into the room and looked into his face, how her brows came together and she looked down at the ring on his hand. It was betrayal. It was disappointment.

And Mike was expected to make up for five years of broiling turmoil? He was supposed to figure out a way to work with a woman who no longer trusted him as far as she could throw him.

He should have requested hazard pay.


	2. Chapter 2

Mike may not be Sherlock Holmes, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the reason Baker is late to the first day of spring training has everything to do with the fact that TMZ clocked her leaving a club in L.A. at one in the morning. He woke up to an email from Rachel with the subject line ‘Heads Up’ and a link to the story.

Li, Ruiz, Sullivan, and Jackson haven’t said anything yet, probably because Mike has been pacing as much as his knee allows him to up and down the hallway of the clubhouse. Probably sensing danger, they all started their workouts without complaint.

When a black Escalade rolls up to the double doors, Mike is outside before it can even park. His face burning with annoyance, his jaw aching from grinding his teeth, Mike is greeted not by Ginny, but by Harriet who throws open the back door to the car and practically launches herself at him.

Mike catches her as she yells, “Daddy!” in his ear and curls her strong arms around his neck, pretty much holding herself up. “We’re here! Surprise!”

“I can see that.” Mike says, pushing down the anger in his voice. Instead he looks down at her, smiling. “What an excellent surprise. You’re good at keeping secrets.”

“It was a surprise for me too!” Harriet exclaims, “I woke up on the plane.”

Mike peeks into the backseat of the car as Ginny lets herself out on the other side. He gets about half a second to take in her sunglasses and the same outfit she was wearing in the photos that he saw bright and early at six this morning.

“Well, you’ve certainly had an adventure.” Mike says tightly, reaching into the backseat for the Padres backpack Harriet insisted on having, even though it’s about as big as she is.

Amelia throws open the passenger side door and shoots him the ‘We have to talk about something look’ before brightening her voice. “Well, I thought abut how special it would be for you to be at your Dad’s first practice. Aren't you excited, sweetie?” Amelia’s talking in that careful way that parents do when there’s something much larger happening that’s not for young ears.

"Yes!" Harriet shouts in Mike's ear. "Mommy, can I run the diamond!?"

Amelia's face melts, nodding.

Eliot rounds the side of the car, holding out a hand for the backpack that Mike’s holding. “I’ll take that.” He says. “Harriet, you wanna eat breakfast with me and watch Sportscenter?”

“Yeah!” She yells, squeezing Mike’s neck again in a hug before practically launching herself at the ground.

Mike’s heart seizes in his chest and it takes everything in him to just watch as she lands on her feet. He’s learned by now that Harriet’s going to do what she wants, and she’s usually okay. It’s when he or Amelia try to catch her or intervene (For her own safety because how can you not try to catch a falling kid?) that she inevitably ends up in the emergency room.

“Come on!” Harriet takes Eliot’s hand and physically drags him towards the door, passing Ginny along the way. “Ginny! Ginny! Can you show me your cutter?”

She’s barefoot and carrying a duffle bag over her shoulder. Ginny reaches over and pats Harriet’s head, “Sure thing, Harry.”

“All right!” Harriet runs ahead, Eliot chasing after her.

“Baker.” Mike calls out, but she doesn’t turn around and Mike’s pretty sure that if he picks a fight right now he’ll have to marry Ameila so she can’t testify against him. “Baker, I want you changed and in the conference room in ten minutes.”

She raises a hand clenched around a Starbucks cup in answer.

Mike and Amelia stand in silence for a good ten seconds for Eliot, Ginny, and Harriet to get inside the complex.

“Don’t freak out,” Amelia begins as Mike launches into his rant—

“If she was any other player she would be getting absolutely chewed out by Al and Buck, Amelia.” Mike whisper yells, fully aware that the press are everywhere. And speaking of that, he takes her by the elbow and guides her inside, heading for his office for the time being. It’s more like a closet with a desk in it. “This sets a tone for all of the other pitchers on our team that if Ginny Baker doesn’t have to be on time, none of them do. I’m holding onto this job by a thread, working under the threat that Baker is going to take her ass and leave at the end of the season if I’m her manager.”

Amelia nods, letting him get it all out all the while she’s smoothing her hair back into a ponytail. Mike takes a second to realize she’s not wearing any makeup and the shoes she’s wearing aren’t the usual heels he sees her in day in and out, they’re still expensive as hell, but they’re flats.

This is about as close to frazzled as Amelia gets.

She holds up a hand. “Ginny missed her flight.”

Mike’s mind flashes to the photos of Ginny leaving the club.

“Because she was out partying.”

Amelia lowers all of her fingers except for her pointer finger, gesturing with it towards the door. “Ginny was at a promotional event, it was in her contract with Nike.”

“I bet that contract didn’t stipulate she had to get plastered the night before spring training.” Mike argues, lowering himself into the chair at the desk. “I know the tipsy ‘leaving the bar photo’, I practically invented it.”

Amelia tilts her head to the side. “She went a little overboard. The pilot called me when the town car wasn’t at the tarmac.”

Mike fills in the rest of the story for her, “So you grabbed our sleeping daughter, drove across L.A. in the early morning hours and poured America’s Sweetheart onto a plane?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Amelia agreed. She looked around the office and then at Mike. “This is all very official.”

“Don’t do that.” Mike says, pointing at the cane leaning against the wall. “If you wouldn’t mind—I spent all my morning walking through the complex, debating how I was going to murder your client.”

Amelia shook her head, “If I didn’t know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she could literally just walk away from that encounter unscathed, I might actually be worried.” She checked her watch, “I have a call with Sony in ten minutes and I need to make sure Harriet knows she can’t just hang out with you all day.” She handed him the cane and headed for the door.

“We need to keep an eye on this.” Mike warned her. “I’m serious, I’ve seen players go down this slippery slope to many times. One fall. One injury—“

“I’ve got it covered.” Amelia told him, holding out a hand. “Believe me, no one cares about the welfare of Ginny Baker more than I do. I'll bring Harry down at lunch so she can tell you her strategy for the season. She's very informed.”

She leaves Mike to consider just how much he hated working in television for another five minutes before he makes his way over to the conference room.

Luckily for everyone’s safety, all of the pitchers are seated around the table. Though four out the five look remarkably more awake and sweaty than the last, who is still nursing her iced coffee.

“I suggest you all throw back some water, we’re in for a long day of training. I’ll be assessing each of you and we will be putting together your training schedules. The physical therapists and I will also be working on your treatments,” Mike says, leaning heavily on his cane as he refuses to sit down before getting out his opening speech. That would just be anticlimactic. “You’re coming off of a championship season, congratulations, you’re the only baseball team that gets to say that. Which means every other team in the league will be studying you, learning everything they can about how you throw and how they can outsmart you. So I expect nothing but your full effort."

There’s exactly one second of silence before a shrill chime sounds.

The guys look around as Ginny pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jacket and silences it.

“Sorry.” She says, putting the phone back. But she doesn’t sound sorry. Li looks at Sullivan and shrugs his shoulders.

“Speaking of which,” Mike clears his throat. “I think the rest of you are warmed up, we’ll begin with you while Baker runs laps out on the field.”

Ginny’s head whips up, “I’ll run on the treadmill.” She says, picking up her iced coffee and taking a sip.

Mike shakes his head, setting his mouth in a harsh line. “Nah, I think we’ll all be outside together. Enjoying that sweet Florida humidity.”

She audibly exhales harshly. “Sounds great.” Ginny cocks her head at him, plastering a fake smirk on her face. “Are you going to give us more of the inspirational speech, or are we gonna get started?”

He might as well buy Amelia a ring and start working on his alibi.

 

\-----

 

She does fine. Because of course she does.

Ginny’s at the peak of her career and Mike remembers those days of playing hungover and barely making it to practice the next day.

He _also_ remembers Al dropping him off at a park across the city and telling him he could make up for what he missed by running back to his house.

But he’s pretty sure that wouldn’t work with Ginny, because of her sharp elbows. And the fact that they have Uber now.

Ginny dutifully runs her laps while the other players warm up, stretch out, and work on their assessments for the upcoming season. To her credit she doesn’t glare at Mike every time she rounds the outside of the field, just mostly every other time.

And when Mike deems it enough punishment, she doesn’t even have the decency to look like she’s gonna throw up. She just goes to retrieve her glove and begins stretching.

There’s a dinky press box in the stadium they practice at for spring training. It’s clearly not what Amelia is used to (though he has heard it through the grapevine that they added a dressing room on for Baker the season she came back from her injury) but it is where she likes to set up shop for the three weeks they’ll be in Florida.

Mike lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looks up into the glaring windows of the box, making out Amelia’s form pacing back and forth and another smaller body trailing after her. Mike smiles to himself, it’s going to take some juggling of his time and energy, but he’s gotta get Harriet out of the field for some of this, it’s the kind of stuff he’ll remind her of when she’s a teenager and suddenly hates him.

Mike watches Ginny throw a few pitches into the rubber pad they have up against the backstop until the catchers arrive in a few days, and Mike can hardly wait to be in the presence of Livan Duarte again.

“How’s your arm feel?” Mike asks from his place safely behind the chain-link fence that makes up the backstop. He knows what it feels like to take a ball from Ginny even to the pads, and it’s not pretty.

Ginny pauses, picking up a ball from the bucket at her feet. She considers this for a moment, throwing the ball up and catching it on its way down.

“Fine.”

Mike looks pointedly at the scar on the inside of her bicep as it appears from under the sleeve of her t-shirt and then disappears a second later with the movement. “Are you sure? PT told me you haven’t been by since the season ended.”

Ginny winds up and throws a powerful cutter into the mat at the backstop.

“I hired my own physical therapists.” Ginny says shortly. She shakes out her right arm again.

“I’d like to talk to them.” Mike says, trying to keep his tone level.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” Ginny says, drawing a pair of sunglasses from the top of her head and sliding them over her eyes. “You’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

Mike takes a deep breath. “Baker, if you ignore your physical therapy, there’s a change you could tear your bicep again. You and I both know that reinjuring the same place is more of a triage game. You will lose range of movement, strength in your forearm, forget about the season—“

“Call me crazy, Coach Lawson. But I’m pretty sure I know more about my body than you do.” Ginny exclaims, but she won’t look at him. She’s a poised line on the mound, her hand inside her glove, all of her muscles coiled tight in preparation for throwing the ball.

Mike refrains for replying, instead watching as she throws yet another cutter.

“Make the next ten screwballs, Baker.” Mike tells her.

She pauses, digging a ball out of the bucket at her feet.

Ginny throws a cutter again.

“Hey!” Mike calls out. “Your screwball, Baker. That’s what I want to see.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t throw those anymore.”

“I know.” Mike tells her, pointing at himself, “I’m your coach. Of course I know. But I still want to see it.”

Ginny pivots, turning to him. He can’t see her eyes through the reflective lens of her sunglasses, but her mouth is a tensed line. “No.”

Mike clears his throat to avoid screaming nonsense, instead he makes his way over as calmly as he can. Granted, it does take a bit more time what with the cane and the fact that even through the field is closed to the press, you can never be too sure who is watching—Amelia included.

“You’re a winner, Baker.” Mike tells her quietly once he gets within a few feet of her. Her shoulders tense up more. “You proved that last year when you struck out the Yankees best hitter, winning the series for your team. Hell, you proved it six years ago when you became a ballplayer instead of an inspiration for Buzzfeed articles.” Mike takes a second to choose his words carefully, leaning on his cane as his knee throbs for mercy. “But right now you’re acting just like the players who wrote you off in the beginning. Full of yourself—“ her head cocks to the side, Ginny mouth opens to retort, “I’m not finished. You’re acting like a brat, and _now_ I’m pretty sure the only reason the team’s putting up with it is because you put butts in seats.”

She shakes her head, “How dare you. I’m one of the top ranked—“

“Blah blah blah.” Mike cuts her off. “I don’t care.”

Ginny clears her throat. “I don’t throw the screwball because everyone can hit it now. There’s no point.”

Mike rolls his eyes, “G—Baker, I know for a fact that you haven’t thrown one in a game since your injury. Why are you lying to me?”

“I can’t believe you just called me a liar!” Ginny exclaims, her cheeks growing redder as she gets angry.

“If the glove fits.” Mike fires back.

Ginny pulls said glove off and sticks it under her arm. The sweat on her upper lip and in her hairline catches the bright sunlight. “I can’t work like this. You’re being ridiculous.” She turns on her heel and begins marching away from him.

Mike hobbles after her as fast as his legs can carry him.

“Ginny, so help me if you walk out of this practice you are in huge trouble with management.” Mike yells after her.

Ginny snorts in response. “For walking away from an emotionally manipulative situation? I don’t think so. I don’t have to take this from you.”

Mike’s knee is radiating pain and screaming at him to take it easy, but he’s closing in on her as she gets to the door.

“Baker, I’m your coach.” It comes out in a harsh breath forced out of him and he really needs to stop before he says something he’s going to regret—“You don’t get to yell at me like I’m your ex-boyfriend.”—too late.

She stops so fast that Mike nearly collides into her back. There’s a moment of silence before Ginny turns back around, taking off her sunglasses and staring him down with an intense stare.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you kissed me!”

It rings out in the quiet of the field. Mike’s stomach goes cold and he knows that all of the players and the assistant coaches have stopped what they’re doing and are all staring at him.

He’s rooted to the spot, unable to move or speak as Ginny blinks a few times in quick succession.

“Ginny.” Mike says quietly, just between the two of them.

Her eyes narrow at him, “Don’t call me that.”

She turns and she’s in the dugout, heading through the door to the locker room in seconds. But Mike is stuck, staring after her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love comments and kudos, you are all the best fandom!
> 
> I couldn't wait to work on something like this because it's very different from any of the other work i've posted. Get ready for a lot of snark banter, feels, and of course a happy ending eventually.


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